


Cyrano de Figo

by Guede



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, Crack Treated Seriously, Crushes, Flirting, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Matchmaking, Polyamory, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 13:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17868419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: Pep and Raúl are innocently chatting when Figo and Mori enter the chat.





	Cyrano de Figo

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in 2010.

When Luís came into the room, he found Pep sprawled out on the bed with his laptop, no doubt dutifully typing away at some thoughtful essay for a friend’s cultural magazine project or something like that. Luís dropped his bag on a chair and then headed for the bathroom. “Taking a shower, Pep.”

“Huh?” Pep started violently up. He looked the wrong direction, then turned his head and saw Luís. Relief made his entire body sag. “Oh. Oh, all right.”

Luís immediately rethought the shower. By now he knew all of Pep’s blushes quite well—even intimately so—and that particular blush meant, at the very least, that Pep wasn’t writing any damn essay. It’d been a long flight and Luís hadn’t gotten the aisle seat and now he needed to stretch…oh, hell with it, he just couldn’t pass up a chance like this. He detoured to the bed and rolled up to Pep’s right. “Are you online? How’s the speed here?”

“Fine!” Pep yelped. His arm jerked up to cover the screen and then dropped as he realized it was a bit late for that. He bit his lip and stared at the keys and flushed even harder. “Fine, it’s good. I’m um, in the middle of something but you can have the cable when you’re done showering.” He finally looked over. “Luís! Don’t—”

“…‘only a couple more weeks till the next friendly, and of course there’s the derby after that,’” Luís read. Grinning as hard as he was firmed up his face muscles against Pep’s smack, not that Pep really meant that. But then Pep tried to shove Luís off the bed and he did put some force into it. Still, easily fixed: Luís dropped his arm around Pep and hugged them together while scanning the screen. “That’s so very…friendly of you, Pep. Let me guess, you’re talking to the adorable Real baby striker.”

Pep gave up on prying Luís off and propped himself up stiffly on his elbows. He looked straight ahead and barely moved his upper lip when he replied. “Yes, I’m chatting with Raúl. I’m just keeping in touch with a fellow teammate and a player I highly respect, and Luís, stop making obscene noises.”

“No,” Luís said while typing.

“Yes, L—what are you _doing_?” Horrified, Pep tried to grab Luís’ hands off the keyboard. He got Luís’ left but Luís managed to drop his right pinky onto the Enter button before Pep could stop him. Pep’s eyes widened to cartoonish proportions. “Luís! You bastard!”

He launched himself at Luís. He was really, truly outraged and as a friend, Luís knew he’d crossed a line and should be worried. But Luís freely admitted he wasn’t very good with this part of friendship; he laughed till his head was hanging off the bed, wild-eyed Pep shaking him by the shoulders, and then he set about trying to control himself. Well, honestly, trying to stay on the bed. “Pep,” he wheezed, pulling at Pep’s waist and arm. He dug in with his heels and wiggled to force his body back onto the bed. “Pep, I’m—Pep, you didn’t even see what I—I wrote and—”

The soft ping of a message being received dropped into a temporary lull between Pep’s cursing and Luís’ gasps. For a moment Pep and Luís stared at each other. Then Pep’s face shifted to panic and he twisted around.

Luís used his handful of Pep’s shirt to delay the man long enough to sit up and grab him by the waist. Of course Pep was being typically single-minded about getting to what he wanted, i. e. the laptop, and instead of yanking at Luís he just kept clawing towards the computer. He managed to pull them over but fell on his back, so he couldn’t reach the keyboard. At that point he finally tried for Luís, but Luís seized both of Pep’s hands and pinned them to the bed. He shimmied over the top of the other man till he could lean on Pep’s wrists with his weight, which had the effect of holding Pep still and lifting Luís so he could see the screen.

“This isn’t funny, Luís,” Pep hissed. He twisted around and got one leg hooked behind Luís’ thighs. Which only pushed Luís more onto him, but whenever that fluffy Real baby was involved, Pep wasn’t exactly rational. “Luís! It’s a private conversation, and how am I going to—”

“Awww. That’s so sweet of him,” Luís said.

Pep fell silent for a moment. “Luís. What did he—what did you say, you awful son of a whore?”

Luís settled back so he could properly grin at Pep’s indignant face. “I just said I thought he’s been very impressive lately, and that it really shows how much he’s been working on his sense of positioning.”

They stared at each other. Pep thought that that was rather minor in the grand scheme of things, but was still an invasion of privacy, and that Luís was being a total shit. His eyes really kept him from ever hiding his emotions and Luís was glad of it. “And?” Pep finally demanded.

“And what?” Luís asked. Then he looked up. “Oh, he’s still writing. Not the fastest typist, is he?”

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to be a secretary, and—and what the hell did he say? Luís, you’re an utter sadist.” And with that Pep dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He lasted for all of five seconds before he opened his eyes and tried to twist his head to see the screen. “I hate you.”

Luís tried to gauge just how distracted Pep was. The other man hadn’t been struggling for the last few minutes, but one of Pep’s great strengths was the ability to appear as if he wasn’t really doing much when he was really setting up a defense-slicing move. Whether on the pitch or fighting in a hotel room for the keyboard. “He said thank you, he still thinks he needs some work but he’s glad that you think he’s doing better because you have such a good eye for that…Christ, Pep, is this what you two always talk about?”

“Huh?” Pep looked blankly back up at Luís. “What, football?”

“No fucking wonder you’re not getting anywhere with him,” Luís muttered. He decided to chance it and let go of Pep’s left wrist.

“And just where am I supposed to be getting? I like him very much and I want to respect the friendship that’s—” Pep suddenly realized his wrist was free. He wrenched himself over and went for the keyboard. “I am not a pervert like you, all right? He’s fucking—”

Luís had only gotten a few words out when he felt Pep shift under him. He missed his grab at Pep’s hand but did manage to bat it away. And he still had his other grip on Pep’s hand. He yanked down on it and Pep slid a few centimeters away from the laptop. Then Pep got over onto his front and threw out his hand. His fingers stabbed into the mattress just a hair away from the computer.

Time for desperate measures. When Luís felt Pep hunch over for the spring forward, he dropped his hold on Pep’s wrist and then slid down himself. He shoved his arm under Pep, then hooked it around, neatly catching Pep’s arms up against his sides and locking Pep back against him. Pep actually tried to slam his head back into Luís’ nose and for a moment Luís…nah, didn’t regret it. Hold on Pep secured, Luís craned his head around and stretched out his free arm, and found he could just get to the keyboard. “I’m going to tell him you also like his new haircut.”

Pep squirmed. “ _Luís_. You wouldn’t.”

“You called me a pervert, Pep,” Luís said, pecking away. It was awkward and slow and probably Raúl was wondering what the hell was going on, but he managed to get the message out and then sent. “And when he’s barely out of his teens. I’m many things, but I’m not the pervert here.”

“Which is why I’m _not_ ‘getting anywhere’ with him, and—and Luís, you just sent it, didn’t you?” Pep said, tone flipping from incensed to mournful. He tried to hide his head in the bed. “Luís, oh, God, what the hell is he going to think?”

* * *

Raúl blinked hard. Then he glanced over as Fernando, freshly showered, plopped down next to him on the bed. “Pep just said he likes my hair.”

“Really?” Fernando grinned. Wet streaks of hair were plastered to his forehead and water was running off his chin. He scrubbed a handful of towel over his face, then tossed the towel over his shoulder. That towel was the only thing on him. “Hey, maybe he’s finally facing up to the fact that he’s constantly perving all over you.”

It was a moment before Raúl realized that that meant he didn’t have to be embarrassed about staring at Fernando’s naked, damp, shower-flushed ass. He still ducked his head and tried to rub the blush out of his cheeks. “You think? I mean, I was really starting to think he just wants to be friends.”

“Oh, hell, yes,” Fernando muttered, leaning over the computer. “I haven’t even been on the senior national team that long and I already can see why Hierro gets so frustrated with you two. He needs to just fuck you in the showers already so the rest of us can stop pretending he’s not staring at your ass all the time.”

“’Nando!” Raúl said, aghast.

Fernando was typing a reply. For a few seconds Raúl just watched. Then he shook himself, hit the other man on the shoulder and grabbed the laptop. He got it away but then Fernando got on _him_ , and Fernando was so wet that Raúl’s t-shirt and underwear were instantly molded to him. Wet and warm and giggling into Raúl’s neck so Raúl sort of dazedly looked to see what he’d typed. Oh. Pep had already replied.

* * *

“He liked that photoshoot!” Luís said gleefully, hugging Pep to him. He kissed the man on the top of the head, then wrenched Pep back when Pep tried to slide out the top of Luís’ grip. Then he turned back to the computer. “He says he just wishes he looked as good. All his mag covers seem to turn out weird. I told him he looks fine to you. All clean-cut and handsome, just what anybody would want to take home. Didn’t say it’s for meeting the parents, of course. Because it isn’t and we all know it.”

Pep was attempting the difficult task of simultaneously cringing and trying to jab out Luís’ stomach with his elbows. He was mostly succeeding. “ _No_ , you didn’t, you wouldn’t, you over-sexed bastard, Luís. Let go, I have to message him before he really thinks I’m—”

“He put a smiley face!” Luís let out something he had to admit was a cackle and wrapped his legs around Pep. That kept Pep from getting quite so much leverage to attack his guts. “I’m going to tell him you think you and he should get together for a private dinner sometime. Just him, no other teammates, the full moon, a nice cava, and a handy couch…”

“Luís if you write that I will _kill_ you,” Pep hissed. He wasn’t struggling any more, but had gone stiff as a board.

After a moment, Luís took his hand off the keyboard. He looked down at Pep’s hair. “Pep. Seriously. You want him. You want to take off those baggy clothes and run your hands all over his young, lean body—”

Twitching. “You can’t _tell_ him that,” Pep said in a rather plaintive moan. His hips were twitching the most, pushing hard back into Luís’ groin. “I _respect_ him.”

“Of course you do. But for God’s sakes, it’s not respectful to treat him like he’s got no say of his own. For all you know, he daydreams about you tossing him onto the nearest physio table,” Luís pointed out. He heard a chiming and looked back at the screen. “Or wants to know if you want to fuck him after a nice dinner.”

Pep went stiff again, but in a less panicky, more shocked-yet-highly-interested way. “What?”

“He says—”

* * *

“I want him to go out to dinner with me and then maybe we can get to know each other without anybody else getting into it?” Raúl read in disbelief. Then he tried to elbow Fernando in the head. “I can’t believe you just did that!”

Fernando pulled his head off of Raúl’s chest and smirked at him. All confident and comfortable with himself, and like usual Raúl found that as attractive as it was exasperating. _Years_ Raúl had been patiently working on the Guardiola issue and here Fernando thought he had it sorted in a few chat messages.

Raúl turned back to the computer. He stared at it for a moment, then started typing.

Eventually Fernando got tired of the lack of attention and nudged Raúl in the shoulder. Then he tried to look at the screen but he was still dripping everywhere and Raúl shoved him back. “What? I just want—”

“I don’t want you to short out the computer when I’m in the middle of telling Pep what I want after dinner,” Raúl said. He thought he did pretty well with only one wobble in his voice.

Fernando gaped. “I…you…wait, what?”

* * *

“He says he knows a good restaurant. It’s very private and you can get a room in the back,” Luís read to an increasingly wriggly Pep. He felt Pep almost twist free and stopped to get both arms around Pep. His new grip shifted Pep up so now he was talking to the back of Pep’s neck—which Pep thankfully wasn’t trying to slam into his face now—and his right hand slipped down Pep’s belly to Pep’s…well, Pep was decidedly interested.

Pep suddenly arched so his buttocks pressed teasingly up and down either side of Luís’ prick. Luís sucked in a breath, then stared at the back of Pep’s head as Pep clamped his hands over Luís’ hand over Pep’s _interest_. “Oh, Christ,” Pep breathed.

“He wants to talk to you all by himself,” Luís added after a long moment. He hadn’t seen this train coming, but now that it was here, he was definitely climbing aboard. “I can completely see that. He’s so damn timid when he’s not playing and he’ll probably show up early, just to make sure everything’s perfect because he wants so badly to impress you. No, you know what—it’ll start before that. He’ll lie awake all night, thinking about it. Thinking about what he’s going to wear, to say…thinking about you. Thinking till he’s uncomfortable but he’s not going to get up, he’s just going to hide under the blankets and maybe…put his hand…down…”

“Christ, Luís.” Pep pushed with his legs and he wasn’t trying to get away. When Luís unclamped his knees from around the other man, Pep immediately pulled his legs up and apart. His head was lolling with the occasional slack bounce forward when Luís pushed his neck. “Oh, Christ, I should kill you but he really…he really said he wants…that?”

Well, at this point Luís didn’t need both hands to keep Pep in place. He swapped his left for his right hand—and while he was at it, got his hand from on top of Pep’s track-pants to inside them—then reached for the computer. He started typing, but Pep was rubbing up against him, hot breath tickling over the side of Luís’ face and Luís was rapidly losing interest in chatting.

“What else?” Pep groaned. He tried to put up a hand and Luís intercepted it, used it to help shove down Pep’s trousers. “What’d he say?”

* * *

“Holy _Christ_.” Fernando stared at the screen. He barely stirred when Raúl, tired of having to kink his arms around the man to get to the laptop, climbed onto his back and straddled his waist. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Raúl pulled off his t-shirt and dropped it over the side of the bed. Much less sticky without it. Then he rested his hands on Fernando’s shoulders and leaned over the other man’s head. “Did he say anything back?”

“No—wait, yeah,” Fernando muttered. He poked his head forward so Raúl couldn’t see. When Raúl hit him, Fernando grumbled and moved back. Then he abruptly twisted around and up, and suddenly he had Raúl, his hands pulling at Raúl’s wet underwear, his voice feathering through the hair around Raúl’s ear. “He says he’d like that. He wants to see you, and he wants to get you in some dark room and—”

Raúl breathed in sharply. Then he grabbed Fernando’s shoulder and pushed his head over it, trying to see the computer. “He didn’t—”

“He says he’s been wanting to do something like this for ages,” Fernando purred. His hands pressed up Raúl’s thighs. “ _Ages_. Probably glad we shower afterwards because then he can turn it real cold, can try to _not_ think about the way your hair curls, about how he helped you up and you had mud on your knees and it went up your shorts, and he wanted to see how far.”

“ _Mori_ ,” Raúl hissed. He knew without needing a mirror that he was flaming red. And that he was wriggling into Fernando’s hands. And he clutched at Fernando’s shoulder and gasped a few times. “Not—he can’t have said all that—”

Fernando licked Raúl’s ear. Then the whole side of Raúl’s face, temple to jawline. He pulled them down and rolled them over, and by the time Raúl’s back hit the bed, he already had his hands firmly knotted in Fernando’s hair.

“He did,” Fernando informed him. He sucked at Raúl’s lower lip, stripped off Raúl’s underwear and then arched _down_ so they pressed together from knee to shoulder. “He wants you naked, wants to shove you up against something and fuck you, fuck you till you’re screaming—”

* * *

“See you when you’re not in your kit, he says. And then he says it’s not that you don’t look good in it, even if it’s Barcelona’s,” Luís rasped in between kisses to Pep’s throat. Their heads knocked against the laptop and Luís nearly swept the thing off the bed before he remembered just how he’d gotten to fucking Pep silly before they’d even showered. “You’ve thought of that, haven’t you? You in the _blaugrana_ , him all in white, like a virgin sacrifice—”

Pep raked his nails across Luís’ hips and shoved his ass back onto Luís’ prick at the same time. “Luís, you goddamn sick bastard, I’d—oh, God, I _would_ —”

“Yes,” Luís hissed. He didn’t even know what the hell he was saying now, he was just saying it. Saying it and sucking at Pep’s neck, jerking his hips higher and higher into Pep, going crazy with the feel of the other man around him. “Yes, yes, you would, you’d—”

* * *

“—fuck hi— _fuck_!”

* * *

“Oh God I _would_.”

* * *

Fernando and Raúl laid on their backs and stared at the ceiling for a while. Finally Fernando reached over and patted Raúl on the stomach. Raúl grabbed the man’s hand and held onto it, and then breathed out slowly.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Fernando muttered. He grunted as he got up. The bedsheets rustled under the laptop as he dragged it over. “So, I’m going to say you two are meeting up at eleven and you’ll tell him where in a couple days, okay?”

“Okay,” Raúl said, blinking.

The soft sound of typing filled the air, then stopped. “I just, you know, never would’ve figured Pep for the type,” Fernando said. He sounded like he was blinking too. “I think I like him a lot better now.”

Raúl slowly felt his mouth frowning. Then he rolled over and smacked Fernando in the knee. With a grin, Fernando waved him off and then finished typing. Then Fernando put the laptop aside and dove at Raúl with a mock-growl. He got his hands on Raúl’s sides and tickled them up to Raúl’s armpits, but then Raúl managed to get away. He scrambled over Fernando with a slap to the bottom while he was at it, and then ran for the bathroom as Fernando cursed and tumbled off the bed behind him.

* * *

“I _can’t_ have dinner with him,” Pep said. “I can’t even—I don’t know how I’m even going to look him in the eye after this!”

Luís stopped and put his hands on the bathroom sink. He looked at the mirror: him half-stripped, dried come all over one hand—he turned on the faucet and stuck his hand under it—and Pep wringing his hands off the side. With his clothes all rucked awry where they weren’t missing completely, so Luís could see a suspicious set of scratches on the inside of Pep’s left thigh. “Pep. You’re going to walk up to him, and both of you are going to be awkward but you’re going to say hi because you’re a lovely man who always does the right thing, and then it’s going to be fine. And you’re going to have dinner with him.”

Pep stared at him. “I can’t!”

“You just had chatsex with him!” Luís said, exasperated. “The least you could do is buy him dinner!”

“Oh. Oh, right, that would be the…” Then Pep crossed his arms over his chest. “I had sex with _you_.”

Luís gave up and went back to taking off his shirt. “Look, I was just the means to an end. A baby-cheeked Real Madrid end with a tight little ass. Who clearly wants to get together with you, so I don’t see what’s the problem.”

“The problem is,” Pep started heatedly, following Luís as he stepped towards the shower. He snagged Luís by the arm and turned Luís so they were suddenly nearly touching. Tiny bathroom, even if the Internet was great. Pep was thinking the same thing, staring down the space between them. Then he snapped up his head, flushing hard, and glowered at Luís. “The problem is it’s all about your damn cock.”

That was—much more direct than Pep usually was. “Oh?” Luís managed.

“Yes.” Pep abruptly shucked his boxers. Then he stripped off his shirt and tossed that to the floor, and stepped forward to take Luís by the hips. There wasn’t any space between them now. “Yes, and the dinner invitation’s just for me, Luís. So you’re not going.”

“But what if you need help telling him he has a beautiful mouth that you need to kiss?” Luís said. Then he noticed Pep wasn’t really paying attention, what with laving at Luís’ neck with his tongue and squeezing Luís’ ass. “Look, Pep, you’re at least going to tell me what happened afterward, aren’t you? That’s the least you could do after the help I’ve given you.”

Pep harrumphed them into the shower, and then dropped to his knees. Well, Luís could always wait for the next chat session.

**Author's Note:**

> I really fretted about when to set this. Raúl has to be babyish, and Figo still has to be at Barcelona and in a relatively good mood, but the technology’s going to date the story. I finally settled on circa 1998-1999, assuming footballers adopted laptops and IM fairly early. And that there was Internet in high-end hotel rooms at the time. Well-researched, this is not.


End file.
